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It reminded Duncan of Malt’s eyes—he ignored it. He didn’t have the mental space right now to sort through what may or may not have happened in that cave, and he was itching to get to the state line as fast as he could.
With a sigh, Duncan turned onto the side road…
And there was a spoon.
It was a sign for a cafe, the name of which had long since faded, but there was a giant aluminum spoon hanging from the bottom.
Don’t go left at the spoon…
Duncan laughed.
He’d hit his brakes, and the car behind him honked its horn, but he couldn’t bring himself to drive forward. He wasn’t supposed to turn left at the spoon. The giant moth guy had said so.
Was it a coincidence?
Did Duncan actually believe the mysterious warning?
What were the chances of actually running into a giant spoon?
Why had it felt like Malt the Mothman maybe possibly had two really big—
The police officer rapped on Duncan’s window.
“Shit.” Duncan flinched.
Great.
He feigned a smile and rolled down his window. “Hello, Officer.”
“Sir, I’m gonna need you to keep moving forward,” the officer said politely. “This road will take you around to the interstate. Just follow the detour signs for I-40.”
“Right.” Duncan laughed. “So, this is going to sound absolutely nuts, but…”
The officer stared.
Nope.
Couldn’t do it.
There was no way he could tell this man what Malt had said.
Plan B.
“I’m feeling, uh, some chest pain?” Duncan cringed, hoping he looked distressed enough to pass off his anxiety as a heart attack.
“Sir!” The police officer looked alarmed. “Put the vehicle into park.” He turned to speak into his radio. “I’ve got an 1141 down here by the old Spooner’s exit off 1-40 east. Please respond—”
The ground rumbled beneath Duncan’s car.
No, fuck, the ground wasroaring.
An earthquake? An explosion? No—oh God.
It was anavalanche.
Duncan watched in horror as giant boulders crashed in front of his car, and the dust that rose up was like smoke, blocking his view of what was happening. He could hear the officer screaming into his radio, and Duncan was certain he was about to have a real fucking heart attack. He couldn’t move, his hands frozen on the steering wheel, and he might have been screaming too.
He wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but the rumblings finally stopped, though his ears kept ringing.
